Marathon: Through the Dark
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: "Note to future meatbags - if you're going to screw around with teleportation, find a better location than Phobos or Deimos. Things have a habbit of going to hell very quickly. Sincerely, Durandal."


**Through the Dark**

 _Aahhh, life in the glorious 25th century. Walking into a jump pad will instantly transport you to a new location. The computer will usually tell you which jump pads transport you where._

If he could, Durandal would have frowned. "Life in the glorious 25th century." He wasn't sure what was so glorious about it, and the genius who wrote this nonsense had ensured that the _Marathon_ crew manual would need to be updated at least once per century to ensure its entry on jump pads would remain up to date. Secondly, the notion of telling meatbags which jump pad transported them where was not something he was particularly keen on doing for the next three-hundred plus years. Thirdly, "the computer will usually tell you which jump pads transport you where." That was an appalling use of "you," and a run-on sentence if he'd ever seen one.

Which he had. Plenty of times. Having gone through the breadth of human literature over his years of service, he could only conclude that the human race had become stupider over the centuries, and that people like Bernard Strauss were ever becoming the exception to an unexceptional species.

"Durandal?"

He ignored the meatbag addressing him. He liked doing that for some reason, even though his core program yelled at him more often than Tycho did these days.

"Durandal?"

 **YES?**

Well, better deal with the meatbag rather than war with his own code.

"Confirm activation sequence of matter transport test one, of May 23rd, 2425, at 11:20 shipboard time."

 **CONFIRMED.**

'Matter transport. 'Was "teleportation" too simple a word for these scientists? One of humanity's greatest authors (by their own estimation, and his own as well admittedly), had stated that brevity was the soul of wit. Apparently brevity didn't apply to teleportation experiments. The scientists could throw their words about, when in reality, they were experimenting with teleportation technology, trying to increase its range beyond that of a single installation. Or ship. Or moon. No-one seemed to agree whether Deimos was still Deimos, or whether it was the UESC _Marathon_. It was in that weird, in-between phase of construction that still involved the ship/moon/installation orbiting Mars, and doing the same dance as Phobos.

"Confirmation from Phobos," one of the scientists said. "Jump pad one is active."

Durandal found himself drifting. In a few seconds, someone would say-

"Jump pad two is active."

…And the teleportation test would begin. Some poor smuck from Mars who wanted to avoid prison time for insurgency (or rebellion, his creators loved their synonyms when they weren't discussing the "Martian situation") against the UESC would be a human guinea pig. Teleportation in itself was same for humans, that had been true for over a century. Teleportation at this range however, was something else. Something with mixed results, ranging from missing limbs to more subtle psychological markers. Insomnia, depression, schizophrenia…No-one could explain it.

"Confirmation from Phobos. Volunteer is on pad. Commencing connection sequence." One of the scientists turned to Durandal's screen. And in a microsecond, he answered-

 **ALL'S GOOD HERE.**

The scientist turned away.

 **BUT GOD IS NOT IN HEAVEN.**

He quickly deleted that line. He had no idea why he'd written it. He felt…strange. Ashamed? A routine reminded him that he was an AI who was assigned to UESC _Marathon_ to aid in its functions and-

 _Or is it Deimos?_

He didn't know. But he did know that Phobos and Deimos had a history, and that if any of the scientists were aware of it, they weren't discussing it. Teleportation had officially been discovered in 2319, but he was aware of the stories. How the Union Aerospace Corporation of the 22nd century had set up installations on Mars's two moons. How one day in 2145, both moons went dark, and the marines sent to investigate had never returned. Bar one of their number who, quote "had to remain in Hell."

It was ridiculous. A story that Martian mothers told their Martian sons about the demons that would come from above if they didn't behave, a reference Durandal suspected might have more weight to the UESC's intra-solar fleet. And yet, he couldn't deny that on 2145, 2,335 men and women had died one way or another. That a cover up of some kind _had_ happened, and that the UAC had been nationalized in the aftermath. And as farfetched as demons were, the concept of teleportation had still existed well prior to its actual implementation. He couldn't discount the possibility that the UAC had at least attempted it.

"Connection made," said a scientist.

"Connection confirmed," said another.

 **SYSTEMS OPTIMAL.**

Durandal returned his gaze to the teleporter pad. If all was well, John Doe (real name Lee Williams, but he honestly didn't care), would disappear from jump pad one, and re-appear on jump pad two almost instantly. To the human eye, it would be instant, as his molecules were reduced to their constituent atoms, beamed over at a speed greater than that of light, and reconstituted here. Even an AI couldn't observe the actual difference.

And yet he hadn't appeared.

"Durandal?"

 **CONNECTION REMAINS. SYSTEMS OPTIMAL.**

"Phobos? Is the volunteer there?"

"He disappeared. What, isn't he at your end?"

Durandal could hear the panic in their voices. Well, maybe not panic – Lee Williams was a scum bag by most accounts, even some Martian ones), but if Lee Williams was now dust in the solar wind, that wouldn't look good in PR.

"He's nowhere! I can't find him anywhere!"

"What do you mean find him? It's a teleport, you don't 'find' anyone! They disappear, and re-appear, and-"

Jump pad two glowed. And for a microsecond, Durandal recalled something else. That in addition to Phobos and Deimos, the UAC had a base on Mars that supposedly also dabbled in teleportation. And that if accounts were to be believed, they _had_ conducted teleportation, but always with some delay between transmission and reception. As if the atoms weren't going from one teleporter to the next, but were spending time…somewhere else.

"Jump pad two has him."

"Jesus, have you seen these readings?"

It was all nonsense. Ian McCormick was the only one who had claimed the UAC had performed those experiments, and Mars City was a write-off. Some kind of terrorist attack that had sent its staff into a frenzy as they slaughtered one another. But-

"Why the delay though? It should be-"

"Bloody hell."

And "hell," thought Durandal, was the operative word.

Lee Williams was there. Fully reconstituted. Not alive though, as his body was covered in scratches, tears, and all manner of lacerations that could be more readily attributed to wild animals than FTL particle transmission. The scientists rushed over, some of them even calling for medics. And Durandal listened in.

"Demons," he heard John Doe whisper. "Demons…"

He was dead. Or would be in a few seconds. And Durandal was reminded of something else – "Phobos" and "Deimos." Fear and panic. Quite apt, for the scene in front of him. A scene so apt, that as he searched his files, he supposed he should say something.

 **WELL. THAT WAS INTERESTING.**

Didn't mean it had to be words of condolence.


End file.
